No Refuge in the Neverland
by tamalasghost
Summary: Written as a challenge to write a fanfiction short story based on the last novel read, No Refuge in the Neverland is the story of a young mother who returns to the Neverland with her son, only to find that things are not quite as she remembers them.


Constance Harrow could not sleep. She longed for the blessed nothingness it could provide but feared that it would only bring nightmares even more horrific than those recent events that she was trying to hide from. She considered the possibility that she was already asleep and that none of this was real; after all, flying to a mysterious island where there are fairies and mermaids and children who never grow up seemed absolutely preposterous. She felt trapped and, not knowing if she was imprisoned in her own mind or not, didn't know if she needed to wake up or go to sleep to escape. Wherever she was, however, something in her heart firmly told her that her son was dead, and no change in her state of consciousness would bring him back.

Though the Neverland was not the safest of places, especially at night, she sat alone on the edge of a cliff trying clear her thoughts by focusing on the sensations around her; the way the moonlight bathed everything in ethereal beauty, the sound of water breaking against the rocks below, the soft brush of sea spray carried by the wind. She had been unconsciously humming snippets of a melody and soon found herself singing to see if she could remember the words.

_The ash grove, how graceful, how plainly 'tis speaking;_

_The wind through it playing has language for me,_

_Whenever the light through its branches is breaking,_

_A host of kind faces is gazing on me._

_The friends of my childhood again are before me;_

_Each step wakes a memory as freely I roam._

_With soft whispers laden the leaves rustle o'er me;_

_The ash grove, the ash grove alone is my home._

Her bright, lilting voice sounded surreal in the night air as if it wasn't even her own. As she continued, however, she heard another voice, a dark, melancholy baritone, join in the song. In her state of detachment, she didn't bother to contemplate whether this other voice was real or not, so she didn't turn around.

_My lips smile no more, my heart loses its lightness;_

_No dream of the future my spirit can cheer._

_I only can brood on the past and its brightness;_

_The dear ones I long for again gather here._

_From ev'ry dark nook they press forward to meet me;_

_I lift up my eyes to the broad leafy dome,_

_And others are there, looking downward to greet me;_

_The ash grove, the ash grove again is my home._

The song concluded, and she quietly continued to stare into the distance, until the voice spoke and startled her out of her stupor.

"I believe you're in my spot, madam," said the voice, which spoke with a distinguished manner of elocution that sounded strangely familiar.

She slowly turned her head to confirm her suspicions. Standing behind her was a man in a long, well-cut, crimson coat. A wide-brimmed, hat, adorned with an ostrich feather sat atop a mane of long, black, curls, and his darkened countenance was just as ominous as the iron hook that he had in place of his right hand. She recognised him immediately, for the likeness of Captain Jas. Hook is not easily forgotten. She had encountered him many years ago when Peter Pan had first brought her and her older brother, Tom, to the Neverland. Being only a child of six at the time, the thought alone of the notorious pirate had filled her with panic and dread. She was not as brave as Tom, and certainly nowhere near as brave as Peter, but back then she couldn't believe that anybody could be braver than Peter. Strangely, panic did not overtake her this time, and she looked directly into his cold blue eyes, which seemed to be regarding her more with curiosity than with contempt.

"My apologies, sir. By your leave, I shall take my contemplation elsewhere, unless my trespassing requires retribution," she answered diplomatically.

"I'm still deliberating your verdict." He paused, considering what to do next. "However, these cliffs have room enough for both of us to contemplate quietly. You may stay, for the time being." He casually crouched down on the ledge beside her and dropped his legs over the edge. She was relieved that he didn't currently seem to have any intentions of harming her. His presence unnerved her somewhat but also sparked in her a curiosity that distracted her from her unpleasant thoughts. Continued politeness seemed to be the best course of action.

"Thank you," she said. "Quiet contemplation is not commonly found around children. There's so much that they can't understand, so what I cannot discuss with them, I must inwardly discuss with myself, when I have the chance. It's far more peaceful here." She had left Peter and the Lost Boys behind in the home under the ground. Even though they were asleep, she could still hear their soft, steady breathing, which only reminded her of when she used to watch over her own child as he slumbered.

"It must be due to maternal instincts or some other such foolishness that you can keep company with those pestilent urchins. Fortunately, _I_ am not hampered by such sentiments," he sneered, but then his voice softened slightly. "I can hardly blame you for coming here to escape, though, so have decided to pardon your trespassing. This is where I come when my crew grows tiresome. Ignorant, thuggish dogs, the lot of them. I can't think of one that is capable of intelligent conversation. I suppose they serve their purpose." His sneering tone had returned.

"While I'm astonished that a pirate of no small reputation would have such a bearing of education and refinement, I think it unlikely that your men had such advantages and therefore fewer options. I'm not saying that their actions can be excused, but I cannot understand how you can justify such derision when you partake in the same unlawful activities." Diplomacy had been forgotten, and she almost winced at her unrestrained remarks. She had been frequently chastised by her governess for speaking her mind with such sharpness. Of course, those rebukes were counteracted by Tom's influence, who encouraged his younger sister in such things, and found it amusing to teach her to speak in as unladylike a manner as possible. She quite looked up to her brother, and his opinion was more important than anybody else's… that is, until she married Victor. It had been quite a long time since she last dared to speak in such a manner, and it surprised her.

"And I am astonished that a young lady should be out alone at night, conversing with a fearsome pirate of no small reputation, and so boldly at that." The Captain spoke smoothly, but there was undoubtedly an edge to his voice. "Clearly my reputation has failed me - I shall have to amend that - for if I am so fearsome, then why do you not show any fear?"

"Oh no, you are quite fearsome. I have been terrified of you since I was a child. I remember seeing you cut a man down simply for splattering mud on your coat… But now, I find I am too numb to feel fear properly. Perhaps it is because I have nothing left to lose. Perhaps the reason why I came to these cliffs was to fling myself from them. Perhaps I've grown accustomed to monsters after living with one for the past six years."

"You think I am a monster?" he laughed coldly.

"There is plenty of evidence to support the idea. Are you a monster?"

"Ay." He said with a bitter softness. He then drew a pistol, but did not point it at her; instead, he held it rested nonchalantly on his lap. "You should know, there's no guarantee that the fall would kill you. You might miss the rocks, in which case you might drown, but could possibly just wash ashore. I would recommend a shot to the head. It's quicker, and far more certain to be successful. My pistol is at your service, madam, should you require it."

"I shall keep your generous offer in mind, sir," she said flatly.

"Am I right in assuming that this disregard for your own life is due to the death of that boy?" he asked solemnly.

Constance inhaled sharply and nodded. "He was my son, Peter. His father named him for his own grandfather Peter Harrow, but I named him for Peter Pan. I would tell him stories about the adventures that my brother, Tom, and I had here as children. Even though Tom eventually dismissed them as childhood fancy, I never stopped believing. I needed those memories, that remnant of innocence and happiness to shield me from a world that forced me to grow up way too soon. I see now that those memories were inaccurate and idealized. Petey came up with the idea of leaving biscuits out on the windowsill, in case Peter Pan should visit, and one night he did. He barely remembered me, though. Petey begged to come to the Neverland but didn't want to go without me. Peter was hesitant, but when I expressed how unhappy I was with my life since growing up, he yielded to our request. I thought that we had found a way to escape, that I could keep my son safe… but I had forgotten how dangerous it was. Everybody on this damned island is trying to kill each other." She paused in contrition for her outburst. "Please excuse my language."

Hook laughed heartily. "It's obvious that you haven't spent much time around sailors. I could give you an example of 'language', but if you think that 'damn' is cause for apology than you would surely faint with shock. It _is_ rather tempting." He then grew serious. "So, this other monster of which you spoke was your husband?"

"_Is_ my husband."

"He must be very monstrous indeed if you are able to sit and speak with another monster such as myself with civility and candour."

Constance grew tense and gave a weak nod. "You must be somewhat less monstrous, considering how you reciprocated that civility, despite my candour."

"'Tis simply because your presence doesn't irritate me as most people's do."

"Such flattery."

"I did not wish to embarrass you with praise. It is quite refreshing, though, to have somebody to talk to. Even monsters have need of amiable society now and then."

"Amiable? Victor would have called it impudent, and certainly would not have tolerated it. I had learned to hold my tongue for my child's sake. Now that I have nobody to protect, the consequences of my actions are my own."

"Your husband is a fool as well as a monster, then."

"Would you allow your crew to speak to you so plainly?"

"No, but that is different. I am their captain, and they are under my command. 'Tis their job to obey orders without argument."

"Isn't a wife to obey her husband's orders without argument? That's what I had always been told. Unfortunately, I've always been fond of arguing."

"Ay, and you do it well. You express yourself with both eloquence and sincerity."

She blushed slightly, as she was no longer accustomed to receiving compliments. "I thought you did not wish to embarrass me with praise."

"Forgive me, madam. You are an inarticulate and incompetent reprobate and, I might add, quite hideous to look upon. Is that better?"

"I think I prefer the praise."

"I suspected as much."

They both found themselves laughing, but it died out quickly, leaving a lull in the conversation. Constance didn't feel quite right laughing so soon after the tragedy of Petey's death, nor should she be engaging in lighthearted banter with a man who had shown little regard for human life. She closed her eyes and the memories came flashing through her mind again.

She is out walking with Petey, Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. One of them returns from scouting ahead to report that the pirates that they are hunting are nearby. She reprimands Pan for failing to mention that the reason for their outing was hunting pirates. Petey cries out that he doesn't want to fight pirates and starts running away. She chases after him. A man steps out from behind a tree and drives his cutlass right through the small boy. She screams and continues to run to her child. The pirate who had killed him suddenly falls over with a ball to the head. A voice barks a command, "Leave the wretched woman alone. Get the boys!" She holds the lifeless little body close. Everything beyond that is blank.

"There is something I need to know, sir," she said suddenly.

"James."

"James?" she queried.

"Ay, 'tis my name, and you may call me by it. And you are?"

"Mrs. Constance Harrow."

"Well, Mrs. Harrow, what do you wish to know?"

"Why did you shoot your own man?"

"For disobedience. He attacked before I gave the order. Also, 'tis exceptionally bad form to kill an unarmed and inexperienced whelp."

"Is it not bad form to kill any child?" she asked, appalled.

"Those little beasts have killed their fair share of my men," he growled.

"I believe that is the most disturbing thing of all, and why I can't stay here. I was enticed by the notion of preserving my child's innocence, and perhaps reclaiming my own. But what innocence is there to be found in children who hunt other human beings for fun? How could Peter encourage this? By refusing to grow up, he is unable to change or develop. He remains selfish and unaware of how his actions affect others. How could any mother wish that for her child? And yet, I'm haunted by what sweet boy might have grown up to be, had we stayed where he would be subject to the influence of his father. Better to be obliviously hurtful than intentionally cruel."

"I'm sure that cocky louse was obliviously hurtful when he gleefully cut off my hand and fed it to that blasted crocodile. That is no child. That demon is a flagrant mockery of the innocence that you were hoping to find. His arrogance and careless nature offend me to my very core. He is an itch that I long to scratch, and his little 'joke' has appropriately provided me with the perfect tool for the job." He held up his hook and surveyed it with satisfaction as it reflected the moonlight.

"And what will you do with yourself after you've killed him? I see that you have no qualms about killing, but I still imagine it will leave you feeling empty and unfulfilled. I agree that he is conceited. He wants to believe himself a hero, but to be a hero, he needs a villain. Why not deprive him of that and just walk away? Why continue to play his childish games? _Peter_ may have trapped himself in that static existence, but _you_ do not have to. Don't let him take from you the power to change."

"'Tis an intriguing idea, but I fear it is too late for that. The very thought of letting him go unpunished repulses me. Do you not want to see him pay for his involvement in your lad's death?"

"I do not want him dead, but nor can I bear his presence any longer. He was outraged when he saw little Petey killed, but that ceased as soon as the fighting did, and he seemed confused by how my grief persisted."

"Are you to return to England, then?"

"Possibly, but I don't know how I would. My heart is too heavy to fly back, and the thought of returning to _him_ makes it heavier still. I'm not afraid of living simply and working to support myself. When I was younger, Father had lost a great deal of money on risky investments but was too proud to admit our financial situation. Appearances had to be kept up, so I often helped around the house, as we couldn't afford to employ a full staff. I could be a maid, or a cook, or a seamstress. I'm actually quite accomplished at needlework. Tom received many compliments on the embroidered waistcoat that I made for him when he was elected into Pop." It then occurred to her that James might not be familiar with the Eton Society. "Pop is another name for…"

"Ay, I know what Pop is." He interrupted sharply. "'Tis a great honour indeed," he said with a faint trace of shame.

"But you are known to have served on Blackbeard's crew, and Edward Teach died almost a century before the Eton Society was founded. Your manner of dress and speech are somewhat archaic as well," she said, puzzled.

"You seem to know a great deal about pirates for a respectable young lady," he said in amusement.

"Tom was quite fascinated by them. He even thought about offering to join your crew, figuring that twelve was a good age for a cabin boy, but that you wouldn't want a little girl of six aboard, and he wasn't going to leave me behind."

"I think I like this brother of yours."

"I'm very fond of him myself, but you didn't give an explanation for those discrepancies in time."

"Time seems to flow in unexpected ways here," was all the explanation he gave; she got the impression that he didn't want to discuss it.

"As I was saying, I have no objections to working, should I be able to find respectable employment, but Victor would never allow a divorce, and if I were to leave, with his wealth and connections he would easily find me. He does not take any sort of rejection or defiance lightly. If I were to appeal to the law for help, he would most likely receive a mere slap on the wrist."

"Have you ever considered piracy?"

"_Respectable _employment. I would probably be rubbish at murdering and pillaging, even if I could bring myself to do it. I'm sure domestic skills would be as useful on a ship as in a house, but I would still feel like I was condoning your illicit practices, even if I refused to take part in them. And to be a lone woman on a ship full of men, to none of whom I was married? That would be… problematic."

"But your swine of a husband would have an extremely difficult time finding you. You would be free from the restraints of society. Why should you care about upholding the law, when it has done nothing to protect you? I would not be opposed to some civilized company, and, if any of those swabs so much as lay a finger on you, they shall have to answer to me."

"But who would you have to answer to?" she asked with a penetrating stare.

"A fair question." He smirked. "I promise that I would not force you to do anything against your will, however sorely I am tempted."

"Why would any woman want to do _that_ if she didn't have to," she said with a shudder of revulsion.

"You clearly haven't been doing it right," he teased, but quickly realized why it was nothing to tease about. "Or, more likely, your husband hasn't… I'm sorry for whatever he's done to you," he said earnestly.

As he considered his proposition more carefully, his face grew grave. "I admit to having a temper. It has served me well as Captain. Fear is the only thing that these mongrels understand, and the only way to survive in this world is to be feared. As much as I would like to swear that you would be safe, I have let my temper go unchecked for far too long, and I can't guarantee immunity, even for you. I am, after all, a monster, and what good would it do to escape one monster, only to find yourself subject to the whims of another?"

"You seem so certain that you cannot change," she said, sounding discouraged.

"Are you willing to take that chance? Because I am not. You are plainly not ignorant, but despite your unfortunate experiences, or even because of them, you have somehow managed to preserve a sense of innocence about you. I confess that a part of me is envious of this, and wishes to snuff it out, but blackguard though I've become, I am sensible of what a rare thing it is, and t'would be a shame to see it ruined," he said with startling vehemence.

"No. I'm not willing to take that chance. However, as much it goes against my compassionate nature, I've learned that it's futile to try to fix people. I thank you for the unexpected kindness that you have shown me, but that kindness gives you the power to hurt me even deeper. I can't let myself trust, or hope, only to be broken again. No, I think I must dutifully return to the monster to whom I am lawfully bound," she said despondently.

"Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs, woman!" he exclaimed in exasperation. "Am I not a sea captain? Do I not have a ship? I can convey you to where e'er you wish to go. You could start a new life. Your husband can hardly scour the entire world for you. We will suspend any unlawfulness until after you have reached your destination. My promise that you will remain safe and unmolested aboard my ship still stands. If I intended to mischief you, I would have done it by now."

She considered his proposal very carefully. "Very well, Captain, I would like to charter your ship. A legitimate business transaction might do you good." She pulled a ring from her finger and handed it to him. "Will this cover it?"

"Eager to get rid of it, are you?" he said as he examined the skillfully crafted scrollwork of rose gold, that matched her hair, adorned with clusters of diamonds that surrounded a large jade stone of warm green that resembled the colour of her eyes. He pocketed it, promptly. "I'm sure it will be sufficient. Where to, then?"

"I really have no idea. I should like to see my brother again and bid him farewell. We were always very close. His estate is in Cheshire, so we would be far enough from London, where Victor spends most of his time. I can think about what to do next on the way there. "

"As you command, m'lady. I am your humble servant," he said in a way that was far from humble.

"Thank you," she said as her eyes suddenly filled up with tears at the realisation that she might have reason to hope again. She hadn't been able to cry since Petey's death, because without hope, she wasn't able to fully feel the impact of loss; now she was sobbing uncontrollably. James said nothing, but carefully put his arm around her, so as not to scratch her with his hook, and just held her until she stopped convulsing. A tear or two had trickled down his own cheeks. Exhausted from weeping, her eyes started to droop, and her head lolled to the side.

"We had better get going before you fall asleep," he said as he got to his feet. He was about to put his pistol away to help her up when something in the sky caught his attention. Constance quickly stood and looked about to see what he was aiming at. When she recognised the form of Peter Pan flying towards them, she pushed Hook's arm away, just in time to prevent him from hitting his target.

"Damn you, woman!" Hook roared. His eyes almost appeared red as he angrily raised his hook to strike at the one who had fouled his revenge. The hook stopped mere inches from its mark, stayed by the look in her eyes. It wasn't hatred or fear; it was pity. She pitied him for proving himself right about being a monster. He couldn't let this weakness be shown, however, so he grabbed her instead, and held the tip of his hook against her throat, glaring up at Peter.

"Let her go, Hook!" demanded Peter, who had stopped in midair.

"No, James. Don't let me go," Constance said as steadily as she could.

"What?" Hook and Pan cried, almost in unison.

"As long as you're holding onto me, it's going to be very difficult for you to murder each other. I don't need to see anybody else die today. I would appreciate it if you didn't hold that hook so close to my throat," she said in such a dignified tone, that Hook found himself respecting her even more. She had a lot of spirit for somebody who appeared so meek at first. He lowered his hook a few inches.

"Go away, Peter. I don't need you to rescue me. I'm not in any danger" she said firmly.

"You sure look like you're in danger," Peter insisted, eagerly.

"I've hired the Captain to take me back to England."

"Don't be silly, Connie. You know you can't trust him," he said flippantly as if he thought she was playing an elaborate joke.

"I probably shouldn't, but what a great adventure it would be," she explained in terms that Peter would understand.

"So, you're leaving, just like that? How like a mother! None of them care. They all forget their children eventually," Peter accused petulantly.

"Hold your tongue!" growled Hook. It took every inch of self-control that he possessed not to lunge out at Pan.

"Peter, I am not your mother, nor could I ever be unless you would let me. Part of being a mother is helping their children grow and develop and reach their potential. That was taken away from me today, and while I wish I could forget because it wouldn't hurt so much, I will never be able to. I won't forget you either, though I'm pretty sure that you will forget about me soon enough. I think if you remembered everything, you would have no choice but to grow up. You'll find new friends and have new adventures. Say goodbye to the Lost Boys for me," she said with tender firmness. It pained her to watch him as he tried to comprehend the full meaning of her words, but just couldn't bring himself to do it. Even though he refused to understand what she was saying, he still didn't like not knowing things, and this left him feeling extremely frustrated, and children rarely know how to deal with frustration.

"I hope he makes you walk the plank!" he lashed before flying away in a huff. When he was nearly out of sight, James finally released her. She turned around to see a satisfied smirk on his face.

"You found that amusing?" she asked as she an arched eyebrow.

"Ay."

"I didn't enjoy that," she said with a deep sigh.

"I did. Seeing the great and lofty Pan humbled and rejected pacified me enough to keep me from killing him, especially after his impertinence towards you. You didn't want anybody else to die tonight, and I'm willing to respect that wish, this once. I'm not going to lie; I still intend to kill him."

"I know," she responded in reluctant resignation.

"Do you still intend to sail with me?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Brimstone and gall, I nearly killed you!" he thundered incredulously.

"But you stopped without leaving a mark on me, which is more than Victor would have done. Peter really brings out the worst in you, doesn't he?" she observed thoughtfully.

"Ay, but fortunately, you seem to bring out the best, and I haven't seen my better self in a very long time," he said with a rueful smile. He suspected that once they parted ways, his better self would part with him as well, perhaps forever. He accepted this, as he knew he would need his more ruthless side in the future; there were now two people that he had to kill.

He offered her his arm, and, not without some trepidation, she accepted it and allowed him to escort her to where the Jolly Roger was anchored.

Epilogue

James kept his word and delivered Constance to her Tom's estate safely, after which he arranged to return and collect her within a week's time. He never showed up.

The day after their missed rendezvous she was informed that her husband's body had been found in their London home, viciously slashed and stabbed, and with old doubloon curiously placed over each eye.

With her newfound freedom and inherited fortune, she devoted herself to charity work; mainly providing what refuge and relief she could to abused families. She never remarried.

Around this time there were also reports of a man matching Hook's description having been spotted at various places around Eton, which coincided with the destruction of some membership records of the Eton Society.

It has been said that Hook returned to the Neverland to continue to pursue Peter Pan, where he eventually met his fate in the jaws of the same crocodile that had eaten his hand.

Peter Pan did forget these events, as Constance had predicted, and continued to bring other children to the Neverland to join in his adventures. Perhaps he is still doing so today.


End file.
